My Southern Solider Boy
by VegitarianxVampire
Summary: Major Jasper Whitlock is fufilling his duties to the Confederacy when he is injured during battle. He is taken in by a sweet young woman named Alice. After his recovery, he is faced with a choice: stay in love with with Alice, or go back to the war?
1. Injured

**A/N- Alright, this is a new story (duh) so I'm going to tell you a few things you need to know. For one, one of the chapters will be M rated. Only one- and I don't believe (as an author) that that constitutes an M rating for this entire story. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. You will have plenty of warning about this chapter, and if you decide not to read it, I will give a review of it in the chapter prior to it. Deal?**

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Cool evening mist sprayed down on my battalion as we emerged from the woods- the Yankees were still in the dark trees, lingering, waiting for the opportune moment to spring. I inhaled deeply, allowing the pre-battle adrenaline to circulate my body. My horse tapped it's feet anxiously, feeling the electricity flowing through the air.

All of our mouths set into a hard line when the first Yankee solider immerged from the dense thicket, fog swirling around his horses feet, and a Union flag waving in the slight breeze. I turned to my charges and simply nodded once-they nodded solemnly in response, and we all surged forward, headed for the battleground. A sharp battle cry ripped from my throat as I climbed over the steep hill to greet the enemy- immediately, one of my men fell from his horse, following the sound of well-aimed gunfire. I winced as his body hit the ground, completely lifeless. His frightened horse darted for the safe cover of the woods, it's red-brown coat wet as it disappeared.

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_A WHILE LATER_

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The sound of swords clashing rang in my ears as I danced tactfully through the chaos- we had only lost about ten or so, out of 200. But, every time another fell, I couldn't help but wonder- did he have a family? A wife, and possibly a child on the way? A mama that had made him promise that he would come home, just like mine had whenever I departed?

_You had better come home to me, boy. _she had said firmly, _Or I'll tan your hide._

Just then, a body fell in front of me, one of our foot soldiers. I know that I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help staring at the body, horrified. That pause- no matter how short- was the absolute worst mistake I could have made.

"Major, look out!" someone yelled.

My hade turned just in time for a stinging pain to rock my chest- a pain that was pinpointed right near my heart. I fell from my horse, and, spooked, it ran off, almost crushing me in its retreat. I pressed my hand to where the pain was the worst, hissing and cursing under my breath, trying not to move much as to avoid attracting attention.

My hand came away bright red, covered in my own free flowing blood.

I had been shot.

Immediately, I knew that I had to do something. I tried to stand, but my legs refused to work- definitely not a good sign. I knew that I couldn't stay and fight, that I had to get help, or else I was going to die. I dig my hands into the soft earth and managed to crawl to the edge of the battlefield, stand up using the support of a tree, and began to stumble through the thicket. I didn't really know where I was going- I had never been to Georgia before, mainly because I had a tendency to stay around Galveston. I just knew that I had to get away from here, or someone was going to find me and finish me off. After about a mile, the giant burn of resentment for leaving my comrades behind began to burn, adding to the stinging pain in my chest. But I knew that, as soon as I was well, that I would be right back in the field alongside them, fighting to keep the South free.

After a mile more, I was beginning to get woozy, and I could feel the blood from my wound staining the jacket of my uniform. I stumbled, landing on my knees in a shallow pool of water. My breathing was labored, and there were bright red dots swimming in front of my eyes in the pitch blackness of the night. I continued on.

I could no longer hear the sounds of the battle, but, after a few hundred more yards, I _could _see the faint glow of a house on the horizon- my pace quickened to almost running. I reached the large, plantation-style house in a matter of minutes, my will to live rushing me, and knocked heavily on the door, praying that someone was home. Black snakes slithered in and out of my vision, and my knees shook; I was beginning to lose consciousness.

Just then, a small woman opened the door.

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APOV

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I had just been sitting at home, thinking. I was thinking about how I missed my mother, now that her happy nature didn't brighten the doorways of the house, since she had gone and passed away, claimed by pneumonia. She had left me her house, and I had decided to live here rather than with my father, despite the fact that I was alone, five miles from Atlanta. I was thinking about how I detested my father and the man that he wished me to marry, Edgar Wilkes. Edgar was a suggestive drunkard of an Alpha male, who supposedly 'won' me from my father in a game of poker one night, after they had all been good and liquored up, of course. Father said that Edgar's controlling nature would "do my unladylike, mouthy self some good". I had refused to marry him and moved out of Annapolis and my father's house promptly.

Just then, there came a heavy knock at the door. I pushed the skirt of my cornflower blue dress aside and moved to answer it.

There, on the porch, leaning against the wall, was a tall Confederate solider. The entire from of his grey jacket was covered in blood, his own by the looks of it, and his hazel eyes were wide, yet he seemed not to see me.

His knees wobbled, and suddenly, he collapsed, his tall frame coming down into my arms. I managed to hold him up, but for a moment, I thought he had died. But I heard his pulse hammering unevenly, for his throat was pressed to my ear. With much effort, I dragged him to the first floor guest room and settled him on the bed.

"Stay with me," I pleaded to him as I began to remove his clothes. I couldn't help but notice all of the embellishments sewn onto his jacket- he must be a higher ranking officer. I pulled my mind quickly from the trivial to pull off his pants, not having the female instinct to gawk and/or giggle at the sight of a naked man. I examined the gunshot wound to his chest, right above his heart, and went into action. I made sure that his head was elevated at the same level as the rest of his body and grabbed the first aid kit from under the bed- my brother called me crazy for keeping these things here. I pulled out a pair of tong-like surgical tools and held by breath as I carefully pulled the bullet from his chest- his breathing quickened, and he wreathed unconsciously. I pulled a linen rag from the kit and pressed down on the wound to stop the bleeding. I held it there for a safe amount of time, allowing the blood to clot, before I grabbed a new rag, wet it with water from the washbasin next to me, and gently wiped the coagulated blood from his skin. He would need a bath when he was a little better. I wrapped his chest in a sling-shaped bandage of thick linen medical cloth, and sighed- he would live. I could tell.

I took a new rag and began to examine him, cleaning his baby-soft skin as I looked him over. He had a few scraped and scratches on his arms, which I treated and covered appropriately. I washed the blood from his right hand, presumably from where he had gone to feel the wound. His hands were rough- he was a hard worker. Then, I looked at his face.

He had a square jaw and full lips, and I could tell by the darkening circles under his eyes that he had been deprived of sleep for a while. He was exceedingly beautiful, with a face that seemed to be carved from ivory by the skilled hands of an old master. I would compare his beauty to that of the Bottechelli angels on the Sistine Chapel, but he shamed them all. He had thick, curly hair the dark color of bee's honey- I reached out to stroke his face gently.

After putting some clothes on him, I let him sleep, knowing that he both needed and deserved it, and turned to tend to his uniform- the jacket was filthy, but salvageable. I went to the kitchen and put on a pot of water to boil. I carefully removed all of the pins from the jacket's breast and put them in the nightstand drawer, shutting it quietly as not do disturb him. After the water had boiled, I poured it into a large wash basin, and let the jacket soak for awhile before returning to the room. The pockets of his pants were empty except for two things- a small pewter cross, and a pocket watch with the initials 'J. M. W.' inscribed on the back. Hopefully, these were _his _initials. I took his boots to the kitchen with me as I began to scroll through all of the 'j' names I knew: Jacob, Jonathan, Jerry, Joshua, Jackson…

I sat down at the kitchen table and began to polish his boots, feeling helpful. I sat the now shiny boots on a shelf next to the wash basin and sat down to scrub his clothes. The jacket went last, needing all of the soaking time it could get to ensure that the blood would come out. I scrubbed his pants gently, not wanting to damage the fabric, and sang as I waited for him to wake…

_Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name, _

_He's off to the wars and gone; _

_He's fighting for his Nanny dear, _

_His sword is buckled on, _

_He's fighting for his own true love; _

_His foes he does defy; _

_He is the darling of my heart, _

_My Southern soldier boy. _

_When Bob comes home from war's alarms, _

_We'll start anew in life; _

_I'll give myself right up to him,_

_A dutiful, loving wife. _

_I'll try my best to please my dear, _

_For he is my only joy, _

_He is the darling of my heart, _

_My Southern soldier boy…_

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**A/N- Alright, the song Alice is singing is called "Southern Solider Boy", and it is actually part of a song that was popular in the south during the Civil War. Confederate wives and sweethearts would sing it whenever they found themselves missing their men. I had to do a LOT of research for this story. The way she treated Jasper's wound is actually the correct way to treat a gunshot wound, in case you were wondering… Love Is A Funny Thing only has a few more chapters left on it, so I should be able to both finish it and work on this. My school is on spring break until Tuesday, so I have a feeling that writer's block would not be handy. I would like to thank all of my awesome readers- you guys amaze me with your reviews and support, even when the stuff I post sucks eggs.**

**(P.S- I really want someone to enter my contest, so go and check out my profile and get writing. WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE???)**


	2. I've Seen The Light

**A/N- Chapter two! (hooting)**

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JPOV

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I was floating.

Yes- floating, floating on blackness, soft, menacing blackness that caressed every inch of my body. It was not an unpleasant feeling. I felt light, like the burden of overseeing 200 men my own age, trying so hard to be their leader, their authority figure. I had seen things you could never imagine- from endless deaths on the battlefield, by shooting and stabbing, trampling and beheading, to watching our many captives starve to death in the overcrowded cells they were 'housed' in. I had seen men straight from the fight being revived and operated on, more often than not, having a limb removed. This was the first time I had been injured, minus a few bumps and bruises, cuts and scrapes.

I couldn't help but feel guilty for surviving. I should have died and been buried with honor with my fellow Confederate brothers- but what about my mother and sister? I didn't have a girl, a fiancé, or a wife, ruling out the possibility of any children losing their Daddy if I didn't survive. I also had a nagging sense that the war was sucking my humanity like a leech- I had been exposed to too much death, enough that I didn't even really notice anymore, not enough to really care, at least. Unless it was one of my brothers- but even then, the mourning only lasted a few minutes at most. I knew that showing too much emotion would make me soft, and I didn't want that.

Suddenly, I was ripped from the blackness, shooting up and gasping- I regretted this sudden movement immediately. I sharp pain ripped through my chest and abdomen; it reminded me of how my mother and aunt described child birthing pains. I cried out, holding my stomach for fear that I might vomit- the door opened, and a familiar face appeared beside me.

"Hey now!" she cried, forcing me to lay down again, "You are gonna make that wound angry, and that won't be too fun for ya'." she said, her tone chastising as she ran her tiny fingers gently across the bandages.

"W-Where am I?" I asked, "And, who are you?"

She smiled warmly. "My name is Mary Alice Jennet Brandon. And you, sir, are in Marabou County, Georgia."

I thought for a moment- we were in the same county as I had been yesterday, or, at least I _think _it was yesterday. My battalion probably thought me dead by now.

"If you don't mind my askin', how long have I been here, Mrs. Brandon?"

"It's Miss Brandon, and you haven't even been here a day and night, which is why you shouldn't be movin' around like that."

"Miss?" I repeated, my brow furrowing- a girl her age would normally be married with a baby at least on the way - she was easily nineteen!- especially one as beautiful as she was. She had short, spiky hair, wide set chocolate eyes, and beautiful, milky skin. She was small, easily a foot-and-a-half shorter than I, yet, not lacking in the department of soft feminine curves…

She looked at the clock and gasped, catching my attention.

"Oh, he'll be here soon," she fretted, getting up from the small stool next to the bed; she must have had a beau. My spirits fell, though I had no logical reason why- I shouldn't care about her personal life, just be grateful that she saved me. I watched intently as she bustled about, constantly in and out of the room, bringing things in and carrying things out. She changed the water in the washbasin near the bed and exited the tiny room; I could hear her moving things about in the next room over.

Just then, I heard the door open, and a deep, male voice called out.

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APOV

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"Alice?"

"I'm in the kitchen." I called.

Emmett appeared, still as tall and brooding as always, smiling his mischievous smile at me.

"Hello!" I squealed, hugging him.

"How's my favorite little sister?" he asked, embracing me back gently.

"Oh, I'm just fine. Watchin' over things, as always, and last night I took in a visitor."

"Really?" he asked, raising his dark eyebrows.

"Yes. You'd be surprised- he certainly looked affright when he turned up at my doorstep, covered in blood and about to pass out. He's fine now, though. Resting in the bedroom down the hall- I won't let him get up."

"Is he a solider?" he asked.

"Yes, one of our boys, actually."

"How old is he?"

"No older than twenty, but, judging by the looks of it, he's pretty high rank. Very decorated." I said solemnly, "Coffee?"

"Yes, please. How badly is he injured?" he pressed as I poured the black coffee into a cup.

"He was shot in the chest, but I managed to remove the bullet and bandage him up. Two week recovery, three weeks tops."

He nodded.

"Would you like to meet him?" I asked.

He thought for a moment before nodding again. I lead him to the door and peered into the crack- he was running his fingers through his honey-colored hair, sighing. I knocked on the door softly as I opened it, catching his attention. I smiled at him as I walked in, followed by Emmett, whose face was cautious as he stared at my guest.

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JPOV

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Alice stepped into the room, followed by a man whom I guessed to be her beau- a very large fellow, easily seven feet tall, very muscular, with curly dark hair. He stared at me somewhat hatefully, like he was judging me.

"This is my brother, Emmett." Alice said.

We shook hands briefly, and I introduced myself.

"I am Major Jasper Whitlock. It's a pleasure to meet you." I said respectively.

"The pleasure's all mine. I'm Emmett, Alice's older brother. You'll have to meet Edward whenever he comes home from school."

"Edward?" I asked.

"Our other brother- he's twenty." Alice answered sweetly, "How do you feel?"

"Definitely better than I did last night." I chuckled, smiling at her.

She giggled. "I'll be right back." she said, turning to leave.

Emmett looked at me strangely. "My sister is a very…special young woman. As you can plainly see, she is not married, engaged, nor does she have a beau. My father has an acquaintance up in St. Louis who won her in a hand of poker- she refused to marry him and moved down here to live with our mother. She is the youngest child, and, after our mother passed a few weeks ago, she has seldom to leave this property. I'm telling you this for a reason- hurt her, and I will finish what that bullet didn't." he growled threateningly.

Just then, Alice came back into the room, not seeming to have heard our…conversation. She was carrying a stack of mail, flipping through it.

"Thank you for bringing my mail for me, Emmett." she said, looking up at us.

"You are so very welcome, Alice. I'd best be going now- it was very nice meeting you, Major." he smiled menacingly, casting me a glance.

I nodded and swallowed hard; he disappeared, and she came to a letter in the stack of mail. She opened it cautiously, as if she were expecting a rattler to jump out and bite her, her chocolate eyes scanning it nervously, then angrily.

"That boisterous, uppity, son of a horses-" she chomped down on her tongue, blocking a few obvious choice words from escaping.

My eyes widened- I had never heard a woman have such an outburst, not even the young mother who had gone into labor when I had been evacuating Dallas. She had birthed a very healthy son right there in the middle of the road.

"What is it?" I asked.

She sighed and shook her head as she sat down in a more comfortable chair right next to the bed. "It's Edgar Wilkes." she said, spitting the name, "He supposedly won me from my father in a drunken hand of poker, and keeps pestering me to marry him so that I can start having children. I refuse, because he does not own me. I am not one of my father's field hands, and he will not trade and gamble and sell me like one."

I nodded, trying to be understanding. "May I…?" I asked, gesturing to the letter.

She handed it to me, and I scanned it quickly:

_Alice-_

_I don't see why you even bother to refuse me- I own you. You have no option. Your father says that if you don't come back to St. Louis by the end of the month, he will send for you. You will be brought back whether you like it or not, you will marry me, and you will carry my children. To restate, you have no option, so just give in._

I frowned deeply; he was unbelievably rude and uncouth, speaking to a lady in that way. I could easily see why she refused to marry him.

"He's an abusive drunkard. The first time that I met him, I actually used my manners. He was beyond drunk on the nights brandy, and I made one simple, quiet comment about his suit being stained, and he reeled back and slapped me. He told my father that it would do me good to learn to hold my tongue in a man's presence, that a woman is better seen and not heard." she spat.

I felt my eyebrows raise; one of the fundamentals of being a gentleman was learning to hold one's liquor. This man truly was awful. Just then, my stomach growled, and she smiled.

"I heard that." she laughed.

I felt my cheeks heat up.

"No, no." she insisted, "It's fine. I've been meaning to feed you; you've certainly earned it."

I squirmed uncomfortable, not liking her bragging on me so.

"Perhaps I should fix us some lunch- I'm quite peckish myself." she said, getting up, "Would you like to go sit outside? I know how dreadful just sitting in this house all day can be."

I thought for a moment, not too sure that I wanted to move for risk of another bite from my wound.

"Come on, now." she said, "Get up, slowly now."

I did so, extremely slowly, not liking the sting in my chest; when I was fully standing, my legs shook, and she let me lean on her, though I supported as much of my weight as I could. She lead me though the kitchen, which was very large and open, out onto the porch, which wrapped around the house. I looked out, from the doorway, onto the rolling green hills, some covered in various crops, some feeding cattle and horses. There was a dirt road leading right up to the house, and, beyond that, was a small barn.

"Ladies first." I insisted.

She smiled at me and stepped out onto the porch; I leaned on her again, feeling the sun on my bare chest, minus the bandages. She sat me in a rocking chair, smiling softly at me before disappearing again. I observed some more, hearing the familiar sound of whinnying coming from the barn. Judging by the sun's scorching position directly overhead, it was around noon.

When Alice reappeared, she was carrying two steaming plates- I could tell what they carried when a breeze of wind pulled the intoxicating aroma across my nose; fried chicken, collard greens, and johnnycake. My stomach snarled like a wild animal at the scent of the Southern comfort food, though I felt bad that she was going to all this trouble for me.

"I'm just warning you," she said, sitting the plate in front of me, "if you think a woman should have the appetite of a bird, than you won't like the way I eat."

I shook my head; I liked a woman with a hearty appetite, though I liked Alice enough already.

"Well, dig in." she said, picking up her own fork, "I suspect you've been living on a diet of hardtack and grits for longer than I think, and I think it's high time you get some real food in ya'."

I did as I was told; she had hit my diet right on the head. I tore into the food like a twister tearing into a house; she didn't seem to notice the extremely rude was I was eating.

After we had finished, she took our plates inside, leaving me sitting outside, my stomach much fuller than it had been in eighteen months.

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ONE WEEK LATER

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"It looks much better, Jasper." Alice said, brushing the skin on my chest near my entry wound, now scabbed over, "How does it feel?"

"Good," I answered, holding my shirt up for her, "I can walk on my own now."

She giggled. "Well, I need to go into Atlanta to get a few things, and, since you seem to be healing faster than I thought, perhaps you'd like to come?"

"Of course."

She lead me outside, to the barn/stable, and brought out reddish brown horse that looked very calm despite it's young age. She held it's stirrups and lead it over to me; I petted it's nose gently, letting it sniff me so that it would get to know me. She brought out her own jet black horse, and it looked wiley and hyper, probably because it had not been run in a while.

"This is my Sweetheart, and that is William, Edward's horse." she said, turning her horse to show a white, heart-shaped birthmark on the horses hide.

I smiled, and we both headed down the dirt road; she rode sidesaddle, of course.

She said that it was a straight shot to Atlanta, that if we stayed on this road that we would stay in the same direction and arrive in under thirty minutes. Then, she snapped Sweetheart's reins, and tore off down the dusty path, daring me to chase her. I smiled mischievously and clicked William's, urging him to follow.

We came up next to Alice, and something caught her eye; she veered off of the side of the road, and I followed her, concerned, as she reached the edge of a wide creek. She dismounted, and I watched as she stood in front of something- a grave, marked with a single wooden cross. She stood solemnly, staring, as I came to stand next to her.

"Hi, mama." she said quietly.

I noticed a small tear slide down her left cheek, sparkling in the sun. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she turned to wrap her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. I was slightly shocked at her sudden expression of affection, but, hugged her back, resting my cheek against the top of her head.

"It's okay," I whispered, rubbing her back soothingly.

"I miss her." she sniffled.

After a few more minutes, we released our embrace and got back on our horses. Soon, we arrived in Atlanta, and she headed off to do some shopping while I went to the recruiting office to speak with Sergeant Aaron Grady. I opened the door cautiously, peering in. I immediately recognized Christopher Johnson, a solider on my battalion.

"Major?" he asked disbelievingly, "We all thought that you were dead! How-?"

"I managed to get away and get some help." I said, smiling at him, "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I'm taking a week leave- my wife Carrie just had our first baby." he smiled, "Monday, we're headed out again."

I nodded and congratulated him, then spotted Sergeant Grady. I greeted him and explained my situation, which had him widening his eyes at me, and he ushered me into his office.

"Well," he said, pacing the floor, "the way I see it, you have two options; one, you can head out with your battalion at the beginning of next week and continue on, or you can take an honorable discharge and go home. You were injured in battle, and you survived. I think you should have the choice."

My eyes widened; how was I supposed to decide?! If I stayed in, I could continue to support and serve the Confederacy, but, then again, if I decided to be discharged, I could possibly stay with Alice, because…

I loved her.

I honestly loved her already.

I'd only known her a few days, and I was already in love with her. All I wanted was to protect her, to make her happy. I definitely didn't want her to marry that Edgar character, for he would probably beat her; I would never even _think _of laying a hand on her in a violent way.

"You don't have to decide now, Major." he said when I didn't answer, "You can have until Sunday, but I'm afraid that's all."

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**A/N- Ohh, conflict! What will he choose???**


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